


live fast (die young)

by jarrahs



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Humor, Jealousy, Sexual Humor, Slow Build, Unresolved Sexual Tension, allll the good stuff, azula is hella gay, zuko and azula are actual siblingsTM, zuko my son will have angst worry not, zutara sexual tension is what pays my bills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:32:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarrahs/pseuds/jarrahs
Summary: Zuko recognises two of them, the football player and his girlfriend. But the girl with them…all big blue eyes and tan skin, long—Jesus, long—hair. She looks good enough to eat.Azula glances at him, amused, “Looks like your little blue pill just walked through the door.” (Zutara Modern-College AU)





	1. Chapter 1

“Trust me, sis.” Her brother had said. “College is gonna’ be the best time of your life. The freedom, the parties, the sex—wait, no scratch that. No sex till you’re fourty, at _least_!”

Truth be told, she’s not sure when it will kick in. 

She knows it’s supposed to be fun, exciting even. In the capital, on her own (barely, with her brother living two blocks away), the world right outside her window to go out and experience. Except, she can’t seem to find the energy to do any of the “fun” things college had to offer, not with worries of her dad being alone plaguing her mind, or the “fun” fact that she had the whole stress of pre-med to look forward to the next few years. God, she’s pathetic. 

She was genuinely ecstatic when her acceptance letter came in the mail. Really, she was. A scholarship too, for heaven’s sake. Everything she had been working for had settled in her lap and she had no idea what to do with it. 

So now, lying in her freshly made bed staring at a ceiling with slight cracks at the corners, Katara’s sure she’s doing this all wrong. 

It’s almost nine on a Saturday night, and she can hear the droning bass of the music through the wall. To be fair, the guy did have the courtesy to knock and invite her. But of course, she is the girl who says no, who opts for hours of organising her books onto her shelves instead of being awkwardly pressed up against strangers in a cramped room. 

Her phone is still warm in her hand from the call she just had with her dad. He says he’s okay, gran-gran’s okay, “ _everyone_ is okay, Katara, shouldn’t you be out having fun?”. Tragic. Even her own father is confused at her lack of life. 

Maybe she should go join the party. 

Two minutes of internal convincing later, she yanks her door open to find Suki there, fist raised to knock. She’s so effortlessly pretty, Katara notes. Her chin length hair hangs in loose waves around her friendly heart-shaped face. The turtle neck she has on, ends just above her belly button, and her ripped jeans are snug and rolled up at the calves. She exudes au natural athletic beauty. Katara’s surprised she didn’t hear the clicking of her heels up the hall, they look far too uncomfortable.

“Katara!” She beams, pulling the younger girl in for a tight hug. Suki’s been dating her brother for about a year now, but they’ve only met a handful of times. It’s not enough to have a proper opinion,but she has liked her ever since the girl mentioned she had a black belt in karate over dinner last Christmas. “Welcome to Four Nations. ” 

“Thanks, Suki.” Katara laughs when Suki finally lets her breathe again, then slips into her room. “I’ve been in need of a welcoming party.”

“Speaking of parties,” Her brother’s voice cuts in; there’s a beer in his hand she’s sure he just got from next door. Sokka’s always been good with people. He’s funny, outgoing, and always down for a good time. With his hair shaved at the sides, the top grown out long enough to pull into a topknot, piercings on the curve of his eyebrow and a sabre tooth necklace on display against his worn out _The Boomerang Guy_ t-shirt — he even _looks_ like the fun sibling. “Why are you _here_ and not next door? They have a killer keg.” 

“Good to see you too, Sokka.” 

“Get in here, Kat.” He holds his arms out, and Katara sinks against him. The top of her head reaches his chin, to her bemusement, and he abuses the height difference to ruffle her hair. Katara breaks the embrace with a squeal. 

“I was on my way there, actually.” She lies. She was never going to actually go in, let’s be honest.

Suki shakes her head disapprovingly just as Sokka closes the door with a kick behind him. She’s got her feet up on the bed, which her boyfriend nudges away to settle down next to her. Katara drops into the desk chair. Suki takes a quick sip of his drink, “No, no. Never mind that. There’s this sweet party at the Sozin’s guest house we just _have_ to go to.”

Katara worries about what she means when she says “we”. 

Sokka groans, tipping his head back against the wall. “Pass.”

“There’ll be lots of alcohol.” Suki says cheerfully, wiggling her fingers in front of his face as if to bewitch him into agreeing. Katara laughs, rolling her eyes. 

It seems to work. He suddenly grins widely at her, kissing her fingertips. “Fine,” To Katara’s horror, her brother turns to her. “Come on, Kat. Up and at ‘em. ” 

Katara stares wide eyed at them for a minute but all she gets back are two blank, expectant faces.

She looks down at herself in search of an excuse. Her blue sweater and white skirt stare up at her. “I—uh, I’m not dressed for a party.” 

“Don’t be silly. You look hot.” Suki argues, jumping off the bed and eyeing Katara in approval. She nods, bounds over to the closet and throws it open, rummaging around for something. “With those _long_ tan legs and those big blue eyes, guys won’t be able to keep their eyes off you all night.”

“Hey!” Sokka protests, arms flailing. “Big brother sitting _right_ here, thanks.”  

“Shush, you.” His girlfriend retorts, throwing shoes at Katara’s feet, clearly not in favour of the fluffy fish-faced slippers she already has on. “Your hair, you should let it out more. It’s beautiful.” 

Katara blushes deeply, fingering the end of her braid, contemplating. 

Sokka notices her hesitation, pushes off the wall to lean forward. “Cmon, Kat. One night out won’t hurt you. _Please_.” He extends the last word, even _pouts_ , the prick. Damn him. 

Her fingers tug at the band holding her braid together on their own accord. Her thick brown hair falls in loose curls down to the top of her ass, tickling the sliver of skin on display above her skirt. Sokka slaps his hands against his knees in a drum-roll. 

Taking a steeling breath, she stands, fish slippers squeaking weakly. “Fine. Let’s go.”  

. . .

He gets tired of her tongue in his mouth.  

It’s not that Mai’s not a skilled kisser, hell, he taught her himself. He’s just not in the mood right now. Pulling back with a chaste, disinterested kiss, he leans back against the wall. 

“You should get back to the party.” It’s his way of telling her to fuck off, and she gets the hint. But Mai doesn’t care, not when she gets to have all of him once in a while. She gives him what he wants, and he keeps up appearances that they’re dating once in a while, for her sake. They have a good deal going, he thinks. It also helps that she’s as dry as the desert, during a drought, on the sun. There were no feelings when he was twelve, and none now, seven years on. 

His eyes close to shut out the sight of horny, drunk teenagers grinding against each other to _Like A G6_. He’s not drunk enough for this. Coming tonight was a mistake. 

His forehead is flicked, and a cool bottle slips into his hand. His eyes open to find his sister slide next to him, freshly opened champagne bottle in hand. Smiling slightly in thanks, he sips his Stella, feeling it slide down his throat. 

“You need to get laid.” Azula tells him, and _chugs_ the thousand-dollar drink like it’s water and she’s been parched for days. 

“I _am_ getting laid.” Zuko tips his beer at her in a belated ‘cheers’. “By your best friend, no less.”

Azula rolls her eyes, shoving the bottle into the hands of the nearest bystander, who whoops and hollers in excitement, running over to the crowd to share. “I meant by someone who actually gets you hard.” 

He grimaces. “Gross, Azula. Don’t talk about my dick.”

“All I’m saying, Zuzu, is you’ve been making out for fifteen minutes and _little Zuko_ is nowhere in sight.” She says over the music, and he groans, annoyed. Well, she’s not wrong. “You know, I think dad has viagra somewhere, if you need it—”

“Go fuck yourself.” Zuko growls under his breath, then downs his entire bottle in a single gulp. 

She laughs, cheers in his ear at his path away from sobriety. He rolls his eyes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s about to threaten to snitch on her and her party, when a flash of blue catches his eye. Azula follows his gaze to the three people who have just entered. Zuko recognises two of them, the football player and his girlfriend. But the girl with them…all big blue eyes and tan skin, long—jesus, _long_ —hair. She looks good enough to eat.

Azula glances at him in amusement, “Looks like your little blue pill just walked through the door.” She whistles lowly, and he tears his attention away to raise an eyebrow at her. He can’t even remember what she said, let alone swear at her. 

“You invited them?” Zuko asks, eyes drifting back to follow the girl’s hesitant movements, and his throat is dry even though he just drank a whole bottle of beer mere seconds ago. The guy murmurs something in the girl’s ear and she laughs, but it seems forced, nervous. 

“Yeah, Suki’s hot.” She shrugs, eyes darting from her brother to the new girl across the room. She clicks her fingers in front of his face, and he flinches before scowling at her. He’s probably staring like a fucking idiot. It’s like he’s never seen a girl before, for fuck’s sake. _Get it together, man,_ he says to himself. She’s not _that_ special. 

It takes more willpower than he’d like to admit to keep his eyes on his sister and away from the mysterious girl. “I’m telling Ty Lee you said that.”

“Good, maybe she’ll finally agree to that threesome.” 

Zuko sneers in disgust, “I did _not_ need to know that.”

“And I _do_ need to go get smashed.” She says, pushing off the wall and shoving him in the shoulder. “So are you just gonna’ eye-rape the girl all night, or talk to her?” 

“Who?” 

“Cute.” Azula smirks, raising an eyebrow. At his purposely blank expression, she rolls her eyes, then cups her hands around her mouth to yell. “Where’s the fucking weed?!” 

The crowd cheers wildly in response, the sound ripping at Zuko’s earbuds. His sister disappears in an instant, in search of a joint no doubt. He searches for the girl again. The crowd is too big, there’s arms flying to dance to the music, and he can’t find her — not standing here at least. 

He pushes his way through the crowd, trying to hunt her down. Girls cling to him, pressing against his crotch in attempts to halt him, but he doesn’t have time for this. His mood is already sour, and spending his night chasing after Gone Girl doesn’t exactly help. 

He _really_ isn’t drunk enough for this. As if his prayers are immediately answered, Ty Lee appears in front of him, sticking her tongue out. He half expects to see an ecstasy pill lodged on the pink surface, but apparently it’s not _that_ kind of party. Thank God, he wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with an OD-d teenager on Sozin property. Azula is too smart to let that happen. 

He’s dragged all the way to the bar, where they’re doing shots. His sister is perched on the counter, vodka bottle in hand, and shakes it in his face. There are rolled up joints to her left but Zuko doesn’t want to get high, not in front of so many people he wants nothing to do with. Mai loiters to Azula’s right, always by her side, and gives him a suggestive smirk. 

Ty Lee lines up three shots for him, and three for herself. “Ready?” She says—shouts, over the music. They have an unspoken competition to see who finishes first. Zuko wins. Ty Lee pouts, and Azula sticks her tongue in her girlfriend’s mouth as consolation.  

There’s another flash of blue in the corner of his eye, and suddenly this party gets much more bearable. 

. . .  


“Careful,” Katara hears what sounds like Suki’s amused voice slide into her ear. “You’re drooling.”

She snaps out of it, ripping her eyes away from the bar. The room falls back into focus and her ears register the music over the pounding of her blood and it’s like she’s been yanked back into reality. “Wha—what?” 

Suki raises her eyebrows, grinning with glee. She hands Katara a red cup that reeks of beer, and sips at her own. Katara blinks at her confusedly, till realisation dawns when she follows her friend’s eyes to the bar, which he’s leaning against. Staring _right_ at her. A blush blossoms in her cheeks and she can’t help but stare back. 

The first thing Katara notices is his scar. 

It’s red and covers his entire left eye, from the centre of his forehead across to just below his sharp left cheekbone. The skin looks raw, even though the burn is clearly old, and it has ripples surrounding his permanently narrowed eye. She knows she should look away out of politeness, but she can’t help but stare and her fingers twitch at her sides, eager to touch it. 

The second thing she notices is— _fuck_ —he’s beautiful. 

His raven black hair, silky and long, falls into his eyes. His fingers thread through it but they fall back in place. Bright, golden eyes stare at her curiously, and she can’t help but shiver. Long eyelashes kiss his high cheekbones every time he blinks, and she’s sure the cut of his pale jaw could grate cheese. The sleeves of his slim-fit dark red shirt are rolled up to his elbows, exposing a tattoo along his forearm Katara can’t quite make out, and his shirt stretches around his profusely toned chest as his elbows rest on the counter behind him. But it’s clear, with his shirt tucked into well-tailored slacks and an air of superiority around him, he’s _loaded_. 

Sokka reappears, dropping an arm across her shoulder and pulling her in. She doesn’t have to look up to know it’s him, he smells like the sea, freshly wet grass — that Sokka smell. “What’re we all looking at? Is someone streaking _again_?” 

But Katara is too occupied to reply, so Suki grips his chin and directs his head towards the squad loitering by the bar. 

The girl, the _ridiculously_ _gorgeous_ girl sat on the bar beside him, ruffles the guy’s hair playfully. Her long legs are crossed over one another, causing her already short skirt to ride up her milky thighs. She’s wearing a tight top with “fuck you’ across the breast pocket and her yellow eyes are bright through wisps of stark black hair falling across them from her bun. She’s got a face like an angel, but the curl of her crimson-painted lips suggest otherwise.   

For a stupid, illogical moment, Katara’s chest tightens when she suspects they’re dating. But that fleeting thought soon disappears the second another beautiful girl bounds onto the scene, pulling the other down for a long kiss. Oh. 

Embarrassment has her cheeks reddening, and the guy has the _audacity_ to slowly smirk, eyebrow raising as if he’s been reading her mind. 

“Ah, _those_ pricks.” Sokka drawls, removing his arm and stealing a sip of Katara’s drink she entirely forgot about. She finally turns to him, eyebrows raising in question at the distaste in his voice. “The Sozins are a waste of time, Kat. Especially that brooding one, Zuko. You need to stay away from him. Got it?”

_Zuko_. The named seem fitting, somehow. Wait. Zuko Sozin. As in…

“She’s a big girl, Sokka. She can choose her own—” 

“ _Sozin_? As in _the_ Sozin Empire?” She hadn’t realised earlier, too nerve wracked with the idea of her first college party. But if these were the kids of _the_ Ozai Sozin—the man who her mum had worked for ten years, only to die in a “laboratory explosion”. She hadn’t believed that for one bit, especially since the whole case was thoroughly covered up, and every lawyer her father found had conveniently afforded a one-way ticket to Maui soon after being hired. The entire thing was a scam. They’d _killed_ her, because she knew something she wasn’t supposed to—Katara was sure of this. Sokka, however, refused to ever talk to her about any of her conspiracy theories. 

“The one and only. Evil Empire reincarnated, I say.” But Katara wasn’t listening to what her brother was saying anymore, whipping her head away from the guy—Zuko Sozin’s gaze—and frantically planning her escape. “Yo! This is _my_ _shit_! Why are we standing around anyway, it’s a party.” He grins, breaking into a dab just as the beat drops in _Panda_. He yanks Suki into the swarm of dancing teenagers, and she latches onto Katara’s hand to pull her along too. 

Slipping away, she attempts a meek smile. “I need some fresh air. I’ll catch up with you guys later. ” 

Before they have any chance to protest, she disappears into the crowd, wanting to get as far away from this place as possible.

She shoots Sokka a text when she finds the hallway leading out, _‘sorry, was feeling sick. On my way home, will see you tomorrow’_. When she realises she couldn’t care less how obvious the lie is, she hits send and pockets her phone. 

“Leaving so soon?” A low, deep voice drawls from her left, and she jumps five feet into the air.  

. . .  


“Sorry,” Zuko smirks again, amused beyond words at her skittishness. The look on his face makes it clear that he is in fact, not sorry. He pushes off one of the railing of—one of the the two, unnecessary—spiralling staircases and walks towards where she stands in the middle of the foyer. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Her hand is flat against her chest, feeling the pounding of her heart, when she pins him with narrowed eyes. “That’d be much more believable if you didn’t just appear out of a dark corner to sneak up on me—Jesus _Christ_.”

He raises an intrigued eyebrow that comes off condescending, “You caught me. I was fulfilling my lifelong goal to scare the shit out of a stranger in my own house.” 

“Yes, well, congrats.” She bites back, unable to look at him any longer. Sozin. A goddamn Sozin. Countless guys in the world and she had to go and get the hots for a fucking Sozin? No, not if she had anything to say about it. Her breathing evens out and she makes a move to leave. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to go—” 

She makes it to the double doors, pulling one open only to jerk back as he secures it shut with a gentle thud, palm flat against the wood. She turns to him incredulously, 

“You just got here.” He says flatly. 

She rolls her eyes, suppressing a blush at his insistence for her to stay. “Do you keep track of all your guests so thoroughly?”

“Only the ones that undress me with their eyes for five minutes straight.” He says with a cocky smile, and she wants nothing more than to slap it off. 

“I didn’t, I wasn’t— _undressing_ —-!” She sputters weakly, before her hand fists at her side and she inhales deeply. “Get out of my way.”

He doesn’t know how to react to this, to her. He’s sure he doesn’t know her but the way she looks at him makes him feel like he’s ran over her puppy. Her childhood puppy, if the scowl on her face is anything to go by. 

He tilts his head, sizing her up as if trying to recall her face. It’s just for show, though. There is no way he would not remember _this_ face, _this_ girl. “Did I have sex with you then never call?”   

“ _Excuse_ me?” 

“Just trying to figure out why it is you hate me so much.” He shrugs, leaning against the door she tried to open, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Maybe you just have that effect on people.” She doesn’t hesitate in quipping back, and it gets him almost giddy, working to keep up with her. It’s the most fun he’s had in months. 

“You’re probably right. I would have _definitely_ remembered sleeping with you.” 

“Funny, I can’t say the same for you.” Katara smiles as patronisingly as she can, stepping up to him as an attempted show of confidence. Confidence that soon faltered when he pushes off the wall, and only a sliver of air separated them. His eyes narrow in mock-offence and she does an internal triumphant cheer. Suddenly, she’s spirited to keep goading him. “What? Can’t believe something isn’t being handed to you on a silver platter for once?”

“You don’t even fucking know me.” Anger flickers in his eyes. 

“Yes, I’m sure you have a lot of angst about how small the yacht daddy got you is—”

“Watch it.” He growls, irritated at the mention of his father. She doesn’t know one damn thing about him, who is she to criticise him like this? Who the fuck does she think she is? Temper rising, he sneers at her. “Know your fucking place.”

“How _dare_ you—"

“So _this_ is where you went off to.” Azula glides in, careful to choose her moment to interrupt. She’s been at the edge of the foyer for five minutes now, and was quite frankly enjoying it till now. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Zuzu?” 

“You know I don’t like to mix with the help, Azula.” Zuko tilts his head, letting his anger take over in the form of cool, collected indifference. “Actually…I’m sure charity work looks good on a résumé—,”

Azula winces, just before Katara straight up _slaps him_ right across the face _._ The sound resonates across the empty place, the doors to the party closed off so only the bass thrums through. Azula’s mouth drops in shock, and he turns back to the girl slowly, eyes ablaze. His thumb swipes at his mouth, where there is a trickle of blood from the force of the slap. 

Katara seethes, opening her mouth to speak, but thinking twice about it, before yanking the door open and slamming it shut behind her loud enough to rattle the glass. 

Zuko moves to furiously follow her, but Azula digs her freshly sharpened nails into his forearm. He whips his head in her direction, only to see that her lips are pursed to contain a laugh.  

“ _What_?” He shrugs her hand away angrily, but she only smiles in response. 

“I like her.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! Tonight, Santa (in the form of me) brings to those of you crazy enough to be following this story - a new chapter. It's not great, nowhere near, but we're still at the building up stage. We do meet Aang in this chapter, though. Without any more spoilers, read away. Let me know whether or not it lives up to your expectations! Thank you so much for the feedback, I'd love some more. Also, if anyone is down to Beta my chapters for me before I post them (you'd have to be available at the latest hours of the night), please drop me a message. Enjoy :)

He’s fresh out of the shower when he hears the obnoxious honk of a car outside his apartment. It doesn’t take three guesses to figure out it’s his darling sister, and he decides it’s too fucking early for her shit. 

Sliding open the doors to the small balcony, he steps out into the heat and braces his hands on the railing. Zuko opens his mouth to tell her to piss off, except he is interrupted by the shrill of catcalls and whistles. 

“Jesus, Zuzu. Would it kill you to put some clothes on?” Azula yells from below, propping her sunglasses onto the top of her head. He briefly glances down at his shirtless torso and low-hanging joggers, and flips her the finger. The bright red of her 1959 Cadillac gleams in the morning sun, and he cocks his head, wondering how hard she had to pout to get dad to buy this. 

“It’d kill _me_.” Mai smirks up at him from the back seat, eyeing him suggestively. 

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes discreetly. His head throbs, remnants of a hangover looming. “I thought vampires weren’t supposed to be out in broad daylight.”

His sister faux-innocently pouts. “Daddy said I don’t get the pony I asked for if I miss any more classes.”

“ _Daddy_ would have a lot more to say if he ever broke out a blacklight in the house.” 

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Zuzu.” He grits his teeth at the nickname, and she smiles victoriously. He scowls, leaving his sister and her gaggle to disturb the rest of his neighbours with the loud playing of her radio. He opes the time it takes to get dressed will lead to them giving up and driving away, but his sister had spent too many years annoying the life out of him to stop now. 

By the time he comes down, dressed and backpack in tow, they’re still there. He makes a beeline for the carpark by the front of his building, ignoring them entirely. 

“Get in, loser, we’re going shopping!” He hears Ty Lee yell at him, and swings himself over his bike. There are whines of protest when he starts up the engine and props his helmet on, leaning over the cool metal of his Harley, the only worthwhile thing in his life. He brakes when he’s in front of the car, barely registering the way Mai is practically drooling at the sight of him. 

“Really got that James Dean, rebel-without-a-cause look down to a T, don’t you, big brother?” Her voice is muffled but barely audible through the helmet. Zuko briefly wonders if he should wear the helmet more often. 

“Care to give me a ride, Zuko?” It’s Mai this time, and she’s smirking at him the way she does when he appears at her door and they fuck. Her little pink tongue darts out to swipe at the corner of her mouth. She’s bringing out all the big guns, today, and it’s not even 10am yet.

“Next time.” He mumbles half-heartedly, flipping the visor down over his eyes and revving the engine, once, twice, before driving off.

. . .  


“Heads up!” 

Katara looks up from her book in time to see a football hurtling through the sky straight at her. She’s fast on her feet, but her imminent death flies at 80 mph, and just when she’s accepted her fate, someone leaps in front of her and catches it with a celebratory holler. 

She’s slapping him across the head as hard as she can, “Sokka, you dick! I almost died.”

His varsity jacket is so stupidly cliché she wants to strangle him. “Wow, Kat. Do you kiss gran-gran with that mouth?” His face breaks into a grin, and he laughs at his own joke. Smacking a kiss against his sister’s cheek, Sokka throws the football back with clear skill. He’s on a sports scholarship, after all.

An arm is looped around her shoulders and she’s guided away towards the canteen. “Sorry I’m late, sis. Practise ran a little over. I’m _starving_ , aren’t you?”

“By practise you mean sticking your tongue down Suki’s throat?” Katara rolls her eyes when her brother wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, not bothering to deny. “And you’re _always_ starving, Sokka.”

“Hey! I’m a growing boy.” 

They make it to the line in the foodcourt with only seven people stopping to throw “hey Sokka” or “Sokka! My man!” at him this time. Katara knew he was popular, but being around him around campus makes her want to shrivel up and disappear. They’re polar opposites, her and her brother. 

He's charming the pants off one of the servers at the counter when Suki bounds onto the scene, tiptoeing to plant a kiss on his jaw. She turns to Katara as if she just notices her and envelopes her in a bear hug.

Katara turns to say hi, when she notices the girl next to Suki. It doesn’t take a double take to recognise her as the girl from the party, the one that was making out with the one on the counter. She’s laughing at something Suki says, her high braid swinging behind her. Katara wonders if there’s something mixed in with the water, with the alarming beauty of so many of the students here. Her top is low cut, showing off an impressive set of boobs. Her eyes are also remarkably huge, catching the light when she glances at Katara. 

“Hi!” She says cheerily, smiling at Katara. There’s a glint in her eyes as if she recognises her face. “You’re the girl from the Sozins’ party last night, right?”

“Oh, um, yeah.” She’s a little taken aback. Katara wasn’t there long enough to make any friends (but apparently long enough to make enemies), so how this girl knew her is a mystery. A worrying mystery. Suki intervenes, introducing them. Ty Lee. She does Martial Arts with Suki. 

“It’s like gymnastics but a lot more ass-kicking fun.” She explains. Katara can’t help but watch her perfect, pink lips as they form around the words. The girl is ridiculously pretty. 

Suki rolls her eyes, smiling in a way you’d only understand if you were part of the inside joke. “ _Must be_ fun when our  _Senpai_  is too in love with you, to point out you’re eighty-percent hungover in class.”

Ty Lee shows off her perfect white teeth in a smile. “He’s cute, as well. Too bad I’m a raging lesbian, huh?” 

Katara firmly decides she likes this girl. 

They make it to one of the tables outside not entirely swamped with students. Sokka scoffs down his food like he’s been starved of it all week, earning disapproving looks from his girlfriend and sister. Ty Lee takes a seat with them, tucking her feet under herself on the bench. She’s tapping away on her phone, looking up suddenly as if recalling something. 

“So, Katara; you left pretty early last night.” The girl—Ty Lee pouts, as if Katara was greatly missed the rest of the night. 

That seems to catch her brother’s attention, and he nudges her. Talking through a mouthful of food he mumbles something along the lines of,“Oh yeah. You just disappeared. What was that about, Kat?” 

Her mind whirls to come up with something believable, poking at her sandwich. “Just…wasn’t feeling too great.”

Suki eyes her curiously. “Must’ve been those bad nachos we had.” She says slowly, blinking at Katara to agree. “ _Right_ Kat?” 

She presses her lips together, nodding back. “Yeah, must’ve been.”

Someone’s phone buzzes furiously with a stream of messages. Ty Lee jumps up, flicking her braid over her shoulder. “That’s my cue!” She turns to Katara, who has her teeth sunk into her ham and cheese. “You _have_ to make it to the next party, babe. We’ve taken a liking to you.” She doesn’t wait for affirmation. “See you guys around!”

Katara swallows loudly. She doesn’t even _want_ to know who ‘we’ is. 

Halfway through a conversation about the new Star Wars movie her brother fangirls over, Katara lets her gaze drift across the quad, towards the table at the corner.

It’s where Ty Lee rushed off to, and she spots her, with her head in the lap of the hot girl from last night. Said girl has got her hair up, silky black fringe falling over heated eyes in a way that reminds her of— _oh_. Katara understands the genetic similarities now, as she sees _him_ , another girl perched on his legs. Not looking particularly interested in the fact that a (very attractive, equally as brooding, she might add) girl has her ass on his crotch, he swipes through his phone. There are headphones in both of Zuko’s ears even though the girl is trying to whisper into them. 

They have an aura of authority around them, like they could buy and sell the rest of the students on campus with a click of their fingers. A lot of the other students throw glances at them too, envious, almost _admiring_ glances. No one dares to talk to them, though. They’re unapproachable, like _royalty_. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out they’re trust-fund kids. Probably bought their way to Four Nations University, with their thick chequebooks and ‘generous donations’ (read: subtle bribery). It angers her, especially as she worked her ass off throughout high school to get a damn scholarship to this place. In fact, _they_ anger her, period. Especially him, the arrogant, unearthly handsome piece of shit that she hasn’t been able to get out of her traitorous mind since last night. 

It takes Suki’s fingers clicking in front of her face for her to realise she’s been openly ogling him again.

. . .  


Katara’s trying to balance six bible-sized textbooks in her arms when she realises her locker is in the other side of the building. Mumbling about how much she hates this damn maze of a place, she swivels on the balls of her feet, only to crash into something hard. Some _one_. 

Her books clatter to the floor in a whirl of movement and _thuds_ , the spare papers spilling over and flying to the ground around her. Hot anger and embarrassment flush her cheeks, and a stream of apologies tumble out of her mouth.

“Shit, _shit_ —I’m sorry, God, I didn’t see you—” Katara is too busy crouching down, gathering the books strewn across the floor, to recognise who she bumped into. 

“Are you fucking _blind_ —” The gravelly low voice triggers her recognition, however, and she looks up slowly, dreading it. There’s brown boots, then dark jeans—the figure begins to crouch to help, but abruptly stops and straightens up—and just her luck, that scar. 

Her nose scrunches up with disgust, “And this day was going _so_ well.”

His cheek stings with the memory of last night. For a dainty little thing, she has a mean right hook.

Zuko’s jaw sets, fingers curling into a fist at his side. “Hey, at least you’re in your rightful place now.” His boot firmly comes down on the array of papers she reaches out to pick up. “At my feet.” 

Katara makes a sound between a groan of frustration and a huff, shooting up to stand. It’s not as intimidating as she hoped, he’s a whole head taller than her. Her eyes (he hadn’t realised how fucking _blue_ they are) narrow in on his. “What is your fucking _problem_?” 

“ _My_ problem,” He steps closer, index finger pointing at himself, then at her. There’s another scrunch of paper under his feet and she grits her teeth. “Is that a little bitch like you thinks she can get away with touching me. You have no idea who the fuck I am. I can and will ruin you.”

Guilt gnaws at her for the previous night. She shouldn’t have let her anger control her like that. He must’ve been a kid, like her, when her mother died. But the way he speaks to her, it climbs under her skin. Someone needs to teach him a lesson. 

“I think I have a vague idea, _Sozin_.” The way she says his family name strikes curiosity in him. She says it with such venom and malice he suspects she could be the only other person in the world who hates his family as much as he does. Her lips pull back in a sneer, and she all but snaps her teeth at him, planting her hands on her hips. “But guess what? You don’t _own_ _me_.”

“Maybe if I had some spare change.” He looks her up and down. It’s supposed to be condescending, belittling even, but he can’t help but get distracted on the way with tan legs that seem to go on for days. 

Her mouth drops in shock, and her palm instantly rises, poised to give him a repeat of last night. Zuko has other plans, however, grabbing her wrist just as her hand comes flying at him. His fingers tighten on her skin, and he yanks her just a little closer. She tries to wriggle her hand out of his grasp but he’s too strong.

“ _Careful,_ princess. You got one free shot, don’t even _think_ about trying it again.” He’s growling the words, low and threatening. His expression is nothing short of thunderous, and Katara would be lying if she said her pulse wasn’t racing in fear. 

She adamantly struggles against his hold some more. “Get _off_ —”

He drops her hand like he’s been burned, not bothering to be gentle about it. There are red marks where his fingers pressed against her skin. Blinking back tears, she rubs the marks with her other hand. Without another word, he walks away, leaving her absolutely livid. 

She has half a mind to follow him and whack him over the head with one of her books, but she only mumbles under her breadth about how much she _hates his fucking spoilt guts who does he think he is_ and kneels back down to collect her books. 

There are another pair of shoes in her line of vision a few moments later, this time, blue vans. She doesn’t have to look up, though, as the person in question crouches down opposite her, flashing her a smile and helping her gather her books. 

“Need a hand?” The stranger says. He looks a little young for college but she has to admit, he’s _cute_.

Katara throws back a grateful smile of her own, nodding in a silent 'yes please'. Bright and flashy, the guy’s dressed in exclusively various shades of orange and blue. His chinos are rolled up to his calves, and the orange sweater he’s got on over a blue shirt has the sleeves rolled up enough that she can make out a tattoo on each of his arms. Bright blue lines that take up most of the skin end with — his hand closes over some books he places on top of hers — what seems to be an arrowhead on each of his hands. There’s a bright orange beanie slouched on his head that, believe it or not, he’s pulling off. 

When they’re done collecting her stuff, he holds out a hand. She stares at it for a second before realising it’s supposed to be a handshake. Mentally kicking herself, she reaches out and shakes his very warm, very soft hand in greeting. 

He’s laughing, hell, even the corners of his eyes are laughing and it makes Katara smile a little because this has to be the happiest guy she’s met. “I’m Aang. Just so you know who to make the thank-you card out to.”

Her smile grows. “Katara. Thanks.”

He nods, glancing at the pile of textbooks before letting out a low whistle. “Jeez. Pre-med, huh?”

“Yeah, your sympathy is much appreciated. What about you?” Katara laughs, moving to pick up her things once again as she gets up from the floor. Aang, noticing her struggle, swoops in and takes half the load from her.

“More impressed than sympathetic, really.” Heat colours her cheeks at the compliment. “And I don’t go here—you taking these to your locker, or your car?” He lifts up the books he’s holding. 

“Locker. You really don’t have to—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Aang interrupts, shaking his head; clearly not taking no for an answer. He’s smiling again, it’s a warm genuine smile, exactly what she needed. His head tips towards the double doors at the end of the hall. “Lead the way.”

Once they’re walking, after he’s held the set of doors open for her with his foot, she recalls what he said. “You don’t go to Four Nations?”

“Nah.” At her inquisitive look, he explains. “I’m a Junior at a nearby school, I’m here on this whole prospective scholarship course they have me doing for half the year. I’m graduating early, so I should be here next year if I don’t do myself a favour and kill myself first.” 

She’s laughing again. “Perhaps _I’m_ the one who should be impressed.”

He flashes her a smile. She notes he’s only a little taller than her, at least a foot shorter than Zuko, her mood suddenly souring at the thought of the prick. “Don’t be. It’s not for something as snazzy as pre-med. I wanna’ major in Psychology.”

Her head clears when her trusty curiosity strikes. “Psychology? That’s so interesting. What turned you on to that?”

“Well for one, I have this strong urge to stay unemployed and drown in student debt after finishing my degree.” He smirks, and she notices how his feet almost _skip_ as he walks. “But mainly because it’s always fascinated the crap out of me, you know? How the human mind works, the conscience, the nooks and crannies of what make us _us_ , and ways to control your mind rather than letting it control _you_ —like meditation, oh man—it’s _so cool_ —” He stops himself, smiling sheepishly and scratching the back of his beanie with a hand. “Sorry, I tend to get a little carried away.”

“I didn’t mind.” Katara replies instantly, noting how his cheeks turn slightly pink. It’s silent for a moment; she doesn’t know when she loses control of her mouth, but soon she’s blurting out, “Nice hat.” _Really, Katara?_

But he just lets out an elated, surprised laugh. She can’t help but compare him to an excited puppy. “You like? It tends to get a little cold under here.” He balances the books in the crook of his elbow, lifting the other hand to flash Katara the hairless scalp underneath. 

She gasps, she can’t help it. He interrupts her before she can apologise or feel sorry for him. “Little gift from the chemo. Beat cancer’s ass, though, so it’s all good.”

“You’re _definitely_ trying to impress me, now.”

“Is it working?” Aang winks. 

Katara opens her mouth to respond when she realises they’re at her locker. “This is me.” She says,gesturing to Locker 854 with her elbow. 

Once they’ve got her unnecessarily heavy stuff into the locker, she sighs and turns back to him. “Thanks again, Aang.” 

“No problem-o.” He quips, balancing himself on the balls of his feet. “Besides, this way I can tell my friends I totally spoke to the hottest girl here, so thank _you_ , Katara.” He smiles when she giggles, pointing his thumb behind him. “I should get going, my class was back where I rescued you from carpal tunnel.”

Her eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up. He doesn’t seem as bothered as her about missing fifteen minutes of his class. “See you around, then.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure of it.” Tipping an imaginary hat at her, he walks backwards and spins on his heels, breaking into a jog before disappearing as quickly as he appeared. 

Katara can’t help but smile the rest of the day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did ya think? Let me know, and be sure to tell me if any of you are willing to Beta this story for me. (Perks: reading the chapters early, cons: listening to the rambles of a madwoman as I rant about zutara to you). You can also catch me on Tumblr, at natashasromanof.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I am in fact alive. I've been so busy with University (I'm doing a BA in English Literature and frankly read and write everything I don't want to), and this ridiculous writer's block that I haven't been able to update this. Which is a shitty excuse and crazy because I've been obsessed with it and writing down little scenes in upcoming chapters (spoiler: they're pretty lit). 
> 
> Huge thank you to Syd (amadmaninabluebox) who listened to me rant on about zutara for ages, all the while sounding eager and just as hyped. You're the true MVP, thanks for Beta-ing this so quickly and always being around, bitch. 
> 
> Anyway, on with the story - tell me what you think, love it hate it I NEED to know.
> 
> I've created instagram profile looks for each of the characters so you can get a rough idea of what I imagine them to look like and their personalities!! Find them here: http://natashasromanof.tumblr.com/post/157759028598/atla-instagram-profiles-for-live-fast-die-young

Zuko’s found he works best when high. 

It’s a tried and tested method, though in actuality, it’s less the hyper-activeness of his brain and more the soul-numbing benefits that get him through it. Halfway through his Econ assignment, he snaps his laptop shut and tosses it onto his bed. Seems that tonight even the drugs can’t help him through one of his most hated electives. Yet, he revels in the smoke and the numbness. 

To be fair, he didn’t actually choose it. Ah, no no. Choice would be a privilege he’d spend his entire inheritance on, if he still had one. The man he used to call Father had already mapped out his future for him. When he was younger he had believed it to be written in stone, almost. He would grow up under Daddy Dearest’s wing, get a business degree and join the family business, soon ‘earning’ the post of CEO of Sozin Industries and subsequent leader of the deadly underground crime-ring his family had so proudly founded. 

It’s almost surreal now. Thinking back on the day he found out about the drug-dealing, sex trafficking and high profile assassinations. He was fourteen when he strayed to the basement of one of their three office buildings in search of his father, only to find Ozai bludgeoning a tied-up man to death. He had cried. He cried a little less once he was shoved face-first into a bucket of water four times. ‘It is a lesson in manhood,’ Father had told him. ‘Men don’t cry’.

He drops back onto the mattress, lifting an arm across his eyes. The sun has almost completely disappeared outside, so he glances through the corner of his eyes at the watch on his wrist. It’s time for a run.

He’s slamming the door shut behind him five minutes later, pocketing his phone just after he’s turned up his headphones to max. It takes fourty minutes before he has to stop, almost doubling over in the pain striking up and down his legs. His chest burns, he revels in it, the pain and the clear mind. He braces his hands on his knees, panting into the ground waiting for the adrenaline in his veins to subdue just a little before he collapses right here. 

Lifting his head up, Zuko sees the entrance through damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead. 

. . .  


The cemetery is usually predominantly empty at this time, just how he likes it. His fingers reach up to pause the bass drumming in his ears, pulls the headphones out to hang out from the neck of his t-shirt. His legs ache even as he’s dropped his pace to a stroll along the path, towards the centre of the land. 

The pond is an irregular oval, dipped unsymmetrically at one side with lanterns planted deep into the ground all the way around the oddly shaped edge. Their light is dim, yet still manage to illuminate the waterlilies dispersed across the reflective surface of the water. There’s a small golden plaque catching the light on a wooden stand, _In loving memory of Ursa Sozin._ It’s almost ethereal, this little five by five square feet, where the water is clear enough you can see small fish swim across your reflection, distorting it. 

Zuko drops to the grass beside it, a little damp from fresh rain. The smell of wet soil beneath him, the blades of grass tickling his palms and the soft waves across the pond in the wake of the swimming fish, calms him like nothing else ever could. He leans his weight back on his arms, stretching his legs out and head tipping up to the sky. 

He’s almost asleep when there’s a rustle to his right. Head snapping around and eyes wide with alarm, he tries to find the source. A little part of him suspects it’s the growing wind, but just as he accepts this theory there’s a flash of movement across his vision. 

A few feet away from him, there’s a girl crouched by a gravestone. He has to blink to check if she’s real. She is, and she’s reaching in to pull something out of a bag, which after a few moments he realises are flowers. White lilies, his mother’s favourite. The wind sweeps her hair away from her face, and he inhales sharply when he recognises the sharp blue eyes, the olive skin. He suspects she hasn’t seen him yet, giving him a few minutes to decide what to do. The logical thing would be to leave before she spots him in his most vulnerable state. Yet, he can’t move, only watches her with thinly veiled curiosity. _Katara_. He overheard the name the other day from Ty Lee, who tossed him a strange look as she said it. She— _Katara_ stands up, dusting off her knees, and places a lily delicately across the foot of the tombstone. She walks to the one beside it and does the same. Then the one after that. And the one after that. The bouquet in her hands dwindle down with every passing tombstone. She doesn’t know all these people. She can’t. They’re strangers six feet in the ground. 

Suddenly, she stops and spins as if she can feel his eyes boring holes into her, looks right at him. He doesn’t flinch, only fights away the haze and wonders how long he’d been staring. Long enough to have his pulse thrumming in his ears harder than when he ran here. Her mouth forms into a shocked ‘o’. It’s pathetic, but his eyes drift down to stare at the water. He hopes she’ll disappear, leave him the fuck alone.

But thirty seconds later Katara stands in front of him, fingers tracing across the words dedicated to his mother. He doesn’t understand why she doesn’t just leave. Why would she come closer, why is she even _here,_ goddamn it. Her eyes dart across the name, Ursa Sozin, then across to him in quick understanding. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, closes her eyes and shakes her head. He doesn’t want to deal with the onslaught of pity, so steels himself and hardens his expression. 

“Did you need something?” He snaps, she flinches a little. 

Her eyes narrow, clenches the remaining lilies in her grip. She exhales through her nose in a huff, calming the anger that clenches around her nerves every time she sees him. “I’m not doing this with you here. I just wanted…I wanted to say—” 

Zuko hates nothing more than pity. “Save it for a Hallmark card,” His voice is low and threatening. If she’s smart, she’ll take the hint and leave him be. 

It’s difficult, but she remains calm. “It’s not easy, I know—,”

“You have _no fucking clue_ about me, or my family.”

Katara clenches her jaw. “No, but you’re not the only one with a Dead Mom t-shirt.” 

That shuts him up. Sighing, she decides striking up conversation was a bad idea, and kneels to place her remaining lilies at the edge of the pond. He watches her whisper something under her breath and touch the marble lining the circumference of the small pool. Her hair whips behind her as she stands and turns to leave, and she’s leaving but he thinks—he _knows_ she just _prayed_ for his mother she doesn’t even know and every other person in the fucking cemetery and—her mom is _dead_ , like his but she’s walking away—and she’s gone before he can open his mouth to stop her.

His breathing slows when the faint trace of her shadow disappears, and he almost yanks his hair out whilst pulling it away from his eyes. A hand rests there against his skull, the other joining it there and soon enough he’s almost screaming into his palms. 

Walking home, he pulls his phone out to check the time. It’s almost midnight. He clears the five texts from Mai, turns his music up till the crescendo numbs his ears. What it is about this girl that has him wound up so tight? Everything about her has his nerves frayed at the ends. Three conversations with the girl and she’s bothered him more than anyone else (she’s somehow managed to get his attention enough to do so). The music in his ears suddenly quietens, and he dreads the buzzing of his phone a second before it starts. 

“ _What?_ ” His voice is short and impatient when he picks up on the third ring. 

Azula scoffs on the other side. “Hello to you too, bro. Where do you keep your spare keys?”

“I don’t keep any spare keys.” 

He can hear her pout. “Well that’s no good. I guess I could pick the lock…” Her voice drifts and he can picture her pulling a bobby pin from her hair. “Where are you anyway?”

“Out. _Why_ are you at my place?” There’s a click and a cheer of triumph as she effectively breaks into his home. He sighs.

She shuts the door behind her and there’s a shuffle of movement evident through the line. “I thought you could use my company and some hot food.” 

“I’m not in the mood for this, Azula.” He warns. She does this sometimes, shows up at his place when she can’t take the empty halls of the Sozin mansion anymore, when she wants space from Daddy Dearest and it usually always leads to her falling asleep in his bed and him having to crash on his own damn couch. To be honest, he understands the urgency to get out of the place he used to call home. It’s suffocating and only human to want out. She’s unapologetically consistent, so he lets her invite herself in rather than fight the inevitable. It’s annoying, but she has Ursa’s face and he can’t help but care about his little sister.

“You never are, Zuzu.” She quips flippantly, voice growing distant as she makes a move to hang up. “See you soon, food’s getting cold and I’m _starving_.” 

. . .

She’s made herself well at home on his couch, feet up on the table and take-out box in hand as she flips through Netflix options. He kicks the door shut so she knows he’s home. Her arm lifts and waves in greeting, too busy with her dinner to offer words. 

“I need to get a restraining order.” Zuko murmurs, kicking his shoes off and pouring himself a glass of water. 

She turns at this, rolling her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.” He puts the glass down with a sharp clang. “Where’s the wine?”

“In the trash where it belongs.” He dips his chopsticks into an opened carton and picks out some noodles. His stomach almost churns in appreciation. “I’m taking a shower, don’t touch my food.”

She mock-salutes him. 

Ten minutes later when they’re both on the sofa and he’s eaten his way through four containers of Chinese, his phone on the table vibrates. It throws itself into a whirring frenzy, but he merely glances at it as he misses one, then two calls from Mai. 

Azula raises her eyebrows at him, pulling the blanket up over her knees and pausing the horror movie she picked for the night. “Someone misses you.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Probably misses you in a lot of _southern_ regions—,”

“ _God_ , Azula.” He groans in pain, tipping his head back. “We aren’t talking about this.”

“O—kay.” She says slowly, excruciatingly persistent as per usual. Spoiled little brat. “What about _Ka-ta-ra_ then? Can we talk about _her_?” 

“Who?” 

She smiles, leans forward as if she’s excited to hit a nerve. “ _Please_ , don’t insult me. I saw the way you looked at her that night.” He tightens his jaw, says nothing. “You know, before she slapped you. I didn’t think you were kinky like that, but to each their own—”

By the time he interrupts her by standing, she’s in a fit of laughter. He collects the empty containers and tosses them in the bin, doing his best to ignore her. “Cmon, Zuzu. What was _that_ about?”

“Fuck if I know.” He says, bitterness seeping into his tone enough for her to notice and grapple on to. 

Her eyes widen in part-shock part-glee. “She’s got you all worked up.” 

Zuko grits his teeth, takes a seat on one of the chairs away from his sister. “Fuck off. I couldn’t care less—”

She doesn’t even hear him, only plucks up her phone and continues to drawl on eagerly. “I wouldn’t blame you, she’s hot as _shit_.” She’s tapping away furiously at her phone, when all of a sudden a satisfied smirk adopts her lips. He braces himself. She turns her phone to face him, bright and glaring in the dim light of his apartment. “Found your little blue pill.”

He looks away out the doors to his balcony, trying to wipe the image of her Instagram profile out of his head. “Give it a rest, Azula.”

“Mhm,” She waves him off, ignoring his protests and jumping up and perching herself on the armrest of his chair. She taps on the ‘follow’ button with no hesitation. “Katara ‘Ehukai.” Her voice is low, reading out the bio and scrolling through her pictures. “ _Damn_ , girl. She’s _so_ out of your league. Maybe I can guide her through her college experimental stage…” 

He glances up at that, gaze falling upon the whirlwind of pictures under his sister’s quick and cruel fingers. There she is, in all her haughty bronzed glory, at the edge of beaches, swimming in the clearest oceans he’s ever seen, silly pictures with the footballer he suspects is her brother, even one with her kissing a dolphin.

“Down boy; you’re drooling.” She says with a smirk, and he decides he’s had enough of her for a day.

“It’s late,” He snaps, tipping his head towards the bedroom in a silent request for her to leave him alone. “Get some sleep.” 

“Should I leave her pictures here for you to masturbate to or..?”

“Kill yourself, Azula.” 

Laughing, she plants a kiss on his cheek as a goodnight before he can dodge her, and shuts the door to his bedroom behind her, leaving him in peace.

He’s thinking about the girl all over again, thanks to his infuriating sister. Her whole presence at the graveyard today, actually praying for all these unvisited graves of people she had never met. What the fuck even was that? Leaving flowers and the lingering smell of the ocean she seemed to carry with her wherever she went. He could vouch for the irritating scent, it was all over his clothes for hours after his last two interactions with the girl. Her words still replay in his head, and how he wanted to say something but didn’t know what. And her mother, her _dead_ mother—

Zuko can’t help it, seriously he _can’t_ , and props his laptop on his lap, switching it on. A few keyboard clicks later he’s found her public profile. There’s a little part of his mind that calls him out on being a creep, but the sight of her soon silences all voices of reason. 

There’s a particular one of her looking away from the camera with a dimpled smile, in a flimsy white bathing suit that looks almost iridescent against her brown skin. _Jesus fuck_. The beach behind her is no view compared to her figure, long messy hair cascading in tangled strands over her perky breasts to just below her belly button. There’s little droplets of water dripping off her shoulders, he notices when he looks closely, after a swim no doubt, and it makes the whole sight of her that much more edible. He knew she was attractive, he almost lost sight of where he was the first time he saw her. But this, this was a _sight_. Katara ‘Ehukai. It’s when there’s a strain in his trousers that he has to slam the computer shut before it _actually_ gets creepy. 

. . .

The door abruptly opens eight minutes into his History of Western Colonisation lecture. He’s chosen a seat near the back of the lecture theatre. It’s not too far that he can’t hear the professor, or have to squint to see the presentation, and it’s not too close that he’d bring attention to himself, and god forbid — have to acknowledge the rest of the class. He’s sat a seat from the edge so when he twists his head towards the stream of apologies aimed at the professor for the interrupted lecture, he gets a direct view of her. The image of her barely clothed in a bikini flashes across his eyes, and they immediately drop to the lace-up neckline of her white blouse that stretches just a little too snugly across her chest. In an instant he blinks, looks down and turns away, a hot flush actually daring to flourish up his pathetic, traitorous neck. 

The professor only shakes his head at her, pointing to the back row and ushering her to sit before she interrupts more of the lecture, as if he hadn’t spent the entirety of the start figuring out how to use his memory stick. In a rush, she grabs the seat right next to him, much to his disdain. He shifts away in his seat, and the movement catches her eye. 

She turns to him, narrows her eyes just a little. “Did you need something?” She repeats to him in the same snappy tone he used on her last night. 

A part of him perks up, strains against the stitching of his jeans at the aggressive tone of her voice. Zuko would be lying if his lips didn’t twitch up in slight amusement. He opens his mouth to quip back when a few words resonate through the room. 

“…So get to know the person to your right, folks. They’re going to be your partner for all projects and presentations this academic year.” Zuko stares at the Professor, waiting for this to be a joke. No way is this week really slapping him in the face _so_ _hard_. “And don’t give me any ‘I can’t work with them’ emails, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me.” It takes a moment for him to realise it’s her saying it, vocalising his exact thoughts.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've created instagram profile looks for each of the characters so you can get a rough idea of what I imagine them to look like and their personalities!! Find them here: http://natashasromanof.tumblr.com/post/157759028598/atla-instagram-profiles-for-live-fast-die-young
> 
> Also, I'd love there to be multiple betas for this story if anyone is willing, so we can bounce ideas off of each other and I can get multiple opinions since many heads are better than just mine for sure. If you're interested in joining this hella lame group chat I've concocted in my head (once you're passed the initiation ritual there's no leaving), shoot me an email at sarahH_jahan@hotmail.co.uk :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are really the best readers a girl could ask for. I know how much I crave updates and for me to not publish a new chapter in over a month and to get only encouragement, is so unbelievably great. Thank you, thank you. I hope to churn out updates quicker than this from now, as I'm on break from uni and by mid-May will be deadline free.
> 
> Shout out to Syd, Mandy, Sanah and Eddie. You guys are absolutely incredible, this chapter would still be sitting in my folder collecting dust if you all weren't so lovely and inspiring. It's zutara headcanons that keep me alive, and if it weren't for you, I'd still be staring at my screen mulling over what coffee Katara would order, for weeks. 
> 
> I hope this chapter meets your expectations. As always, the comments you leave make my day and motivate me to give back.

Katara can’t believe her luck. 

Actually, that’s a lie. She very well can believe it. Her first week in college has been an absolute fucking nightmare. The Sozins have abducted the life-altering, soul awakening college experience bullshit that was sold to her by Sokka. Not only did they have to exist in the same vicinity, the same godforsaken campus, but the heir and heiress to the Iron Throne have managed to drive her to the first of many sleepless nights. 

She’d spent the majority of yesterday night thinking and rethinking the fateful Cemetery Encounter™ and just when she thought her eyebrows couldn’t possibly furrow more, she received a notification telling her that _kingazula_ bestowed upon her a follow. Not knowing what to do with this particular piece of information, Katara had spent the next ten minutes cyber stalking her newest follower. 

Technically, it was about five on Azula’s page when she caught sight of a childhood family picture, posed and professionally taken. She must’ve been three years old, tops, her brother looking a gangly six or seven. They stood on either side of a woman that could’ve passed for a life-size doll — Katara had gasped at her striking beauty, the snowlike skin, the silky raven hair. 

There was a backdrop behind them, telling Katara this wasn’t a spur of the moment snapshot, but how rich people liked to immortalise their memories; prim, perfect and fake around the edges. She had found herself staring at the photo for longer than she’d like to admit. The beautiful woman, their mother, holding her children close in her arms facing the camera with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, Azula mischievously sticking her tongue out and Zuko with his arms crossed and an expression that looked oh so familiar. She’d scoffed. 

Her finger had tapped on the screen, eliciting a tag from the picture that popped up between Zuko’s eyes. _A habit,_ she told herself later when she very carefully scrolled through his account, _no big deal._

“—hey…hey!” The words startle her, snapping her back to the present to blink away the glazed look of her eyes. The world refocuses slowly and with a look around she realises everyone else has gone, the projector screen is up — the class is over. _Wait…what?_

Zuko’s standing to the side of her, rucksack in tow. He looks at her expectantly but she just stares blankly back, her mind whirring to come up with what the hell happened between when their partners were announced to an entire hour later. After a few moments his patience seems to run thin and with a roll of his eyes his sharp tone is back and pointedly at her.

“Are you going to _move_ , or what?” 

“Wha— _huh_?” Katara mutters, forehead creasing with confusion. Had she zoned out completely? The thought spurs her to make a move. That and the patronising quirk of his eyebrow at her state. She looks at him, then the small sliver of space between her knees and the next row of seats.

Standing up, Katara collects her belongings in a rush before she dares to look up, only for him to be out of sight. Typical. There’s the heavy thump of the door shutting behind him and with a groan she follows him swiftly. 

“Wait—where do you think you’re going?” She’s right on his heels, noting the way his posture tenses at her voice. But he doesn’t stop stalking away despite her protests, doing a very good job at ignoring her looming presence. He has the advantage of longer legs, but when she hauls her bag further up her shoulders and practically breaks into a jog to keep up, he has no chance of escaping her. 

She surpasses the speed of his strides just for a moment, long enough to swivel in front of him and halt him in his step.

It annoys her that she’s a little out of breath when she bites out, “Do you have somewhere to be?”

“Anywhere but here would be great.” He makes a move to get around her. “So if you don’t mind—”

Katara, frankly, isn’t in the mood for this. Her fingers curl into fists at her sides and she sidesteps to get back in his way. “I _do_ mind, actually.” 

There’s an exhale through his nose, the clenching of his jaw. _What_ , he grits out. 

“You heard him, we’re stuck together. For the whole semester.” She's shaking her head, still getting around her shitty streak. 

“ _Lucky me_.” Zuko drawls, cocking his head a little. “Do we exchange friendship bracelets now, or?” 

Her eyes narrow into slits, “It’s taking longer than you’d think to stitch ‘fucking asshole’ onto it.”

Unsure on whether or not she’s imagining it, but she notices a slight twitch of his lips and a glint in his eyes at her words. But when she blinks it’s all gone and his face is a smooth blank mask, like it didn’t even happen. 

There’s a pause, then. “It’s actually Fucking Asshole the Second. I was named after my father.” 

Katara flinches at the mention of the head Sozin, momentarily distracted with the fact that he just made a _joke_. One that didn’t mock her or her lineage. He narrows his eyes at her curiously when she doesn’t retort, opens his mouth to say something else, when her phone abruptly rings. His mouth snaps shut. She pulls it out, ready to decline or tell them that she’s in the middle of something (what kind of thing?), to call later.

But Zuko chooses the opportunity to disappear, swift with scarily silent footfalls till she can no longer find him in the mass of people walking through the corridor.

Fuck. _Fucking_ dick. Mother- _fucking_ ass—“Suki, _hi_.” 

Her phone is cool against her ear when Suki asks to meet for lunch. Lacing her voice with forced enthusiasm Katara agrees, realising it’s in her best interest to let the Sozin bastard go for now before she ends up publicly castrating him in a fit of frustration. 

. . .  


Suki raises her eyebrows, staring pointedly at the way Katara’s fork stabs violently at her salad. “Yikes, what did the lettuce _do_?” 

Katara, finally, looks up. Her eyes had been trained on her fidgeting fingers and the brutal massacre of her lunch for the last ten minutes. Her voice is strained and a little snappy when she says, “What?” 

Suki laughs, holding her hands up, fries dangling between her fingers, in mock-surrender. “Easy, I come in peace.” She pushes her free fingers together in a Vulcan salute, till Katara’s shoulders relax and exhales. Dipping her fries into the plastic pot of ketchup, she throws the younger girl a questioning look, one that screams _what the fuck crawled up your ass this morning._

“Oh—right…sorry.” Katara smiles apologetically, giving up on her lunch with the soft clatter of her fork dropping onto the table. With fingers threading into her hair, she props her head against her palm, pressing into cheeks that are missing Gran Gran’s pinches. 

“I know that look.” Suki says, pointing an accusatory fry in Katara’s direction. “That’s a ‘there’s a boy on my mind’ look.” 

“What—no!” She realises how defensive of a shrill it comes out, and with a deep breath and flushed cheeks that give her away, explains. “It’s _really_ not what you think.”

“Mhm,” Suki nods, pursing her lips to contain a smile and failing miserably at it. “Zuko is _unfairly_ attractive, isn’t he?” 

Katara is shellshocked for a moment. She tries to sputter out disagreements, but it would be a lie to say she wasn’t just thinking of him, or claim that Suki is necessarily _wrong_. 

“I’m not Sokka, Kat.” Her brother’s girlfriend smirks in a way that tells her she knows way too much about everything. “I saw the way you two looked at each other the other night. It was low-key pornographic.” 

When Katara blushes deeper, mouth agape, she continues unfazed. 

“I don’t blame you.” Suki shrugs a nonchalant shoulder, taking a sip of her iced coffee. “That scar is sorta’ hot, no? It exudes trouble, in a playing-with-fire way—”

“Suki!” Katara whisper-shouts, leaning closer over the table. “It’s not like that. I—it—no, _look_. We’re partnered up for the semester, which is absolutely the icing on the fucking cake of my week because every time I see this asshole, he’s either being a prick or walking away mid-conversation—like today, the nerve of him, to just walk away—”

She’s interrupted mid-ramble with a positively amused Suki, shaking her head a little. “Soccer.” At Katara’s confusion, she elaborates. “He’s the captain of the soccer team. They have practise every Friday.”

“Wha— _how_ do you—?” 

“They’re _really_ good.” Suki defends, laughing at the strange contortion of Katara’s face. “You should come see them play sometime, even Sokka does. Don’t worry, you won’t be the only girl in the stands there for the view.”

With a roll of her eyes, she ignores the wink Suki just shot her, going back to poke at her salad. “That’s still no excuse.” 

“Mm, speak of the devil.” Katara follows her friend’s eyes over her shoulder, turning to spot glimpses of him between the pillars. Suki watches her follow him with a determined gaze, fingers tensing and her posture straightening as if to stand and catch up to him right now. As if on cue, he walks towards the edge of the benches and adjoining tables outside, dropping his bag onto an empty one right in the corner away from most of the crowds soaking up the sun. 

Without thinking about it, Katara reaches for her bag, her eyes not wandering from the sight of him in case he decides to disappear again. She murmurs a noncommittal, distracted, “Suki, I’m sorry, I have to—,” to which she gets an almost excited ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, go, go’. 

. . .  


By the time she gets to his table, it takes a bit of weaving in and out of people, he’s got his headphones on over shaggy hair that looks freshly washed and a worn-out, tattered copy of _The Art of War_ propped open in his hands. She can’t help but do a double-take of it, reluctantly impressed. 

Once she gets closer, she catches the whiff of smoke and sandalwood she gets every time he’s near. She tosses her bag onto the table opposite his, swings her legs over the bench and after minimal contemplation (he’s caught sight of her now, her shadow blocking the sunlight he’s using to read), stretches out a hand to pull the headphones from his head. Unsure why he’s letting her do it, maybe it’s down to the surprise, or maybe the fact that he’s a little distracted with the damned top she has on, whatever, he glares at her with his good eye. 

And then there’s the lazy drawl, “Oh, _joy_.” 

She gives him a tight, sardonic smile to compete. “Isn’t it just.” 

He pushes his book shut, drops it onto the table and leans forward a little. “Did you need something, or are you just stalking me?” 

“There are about five-hundred-and-three things I’d rather do. Number eight being dunking my head into a bucket of water and counting, very slowly, to a hundred.” 

“I just _have_ to ask what number one is, then.” His hand reaches up absently and pauses the drone of the beat from the headphones around his neck, a surprisingly good sign that he isn’t about to walk away anytime soon, Katara decides. 

Rolling her eyes to the sky, she plants her palm on the table between them, meaning business. Katara suspects this is the first time a girl hasn’t melted under his gaze, or at the sight of his hard, thick wallet.

“ _Look_ , you asshole. I don’t care about your stupid soccer practise or your I-get-everything-handed-to-me-on-a-silver-platter attitude, I need an A in this class and I’m _not_ letting you fuck that up.”

He stares at her, long and hard, as she pants a little after that gush of venting. There’s intrigue and a little bit of something else she can’t quite put her finger on, in this look. 

She takes his lack of quip as a sign to keep going, “We need to discuss the assignment, today preferably, so when are you—”

“Six,” He finally says. His tongue swipes against the back of his upper-teeth, and it’s instinctive to give her another once-over (who is he kidding? He’s been staring at her the whole time). “There’s a coffee place five minutes from here.”

She nods, a little triumphantly in fact as her heart beats humiliatingly fast at the victory, when she notices a figure approaching them. The figure is a person, a pretty girl (pretty in that dark haired, all-black-clothing way) that looks straight at Katara, then Zuko. Katara recognises her as the girl constantly around him, seemingly obsessed with getting his attention. She struts up to the table, narrowing her eyes at their meeting and proceeding to very purposely, brush her thin lips against Zuko’s cheek, who has his eyes fixated on Katara throughout the entire encounter. She doesn’t quite know why, but the hairs on her arms rise up at the way he doesn’t look away from her, despite the embarrassingly try-hard greeting from who she supposes is his girlfriend. A confusing pump of adrenaline courses through her. 

The girl pulls back, trailing her eyeliner-heavy eyes to pierce into Katara, her voice sounding as vindictive as she expects. “And _you_ are…?” 

“Leaving.” Katara says, standing, but not leaving before fishing something out of her bag. Once she pulls out a pen, he watches her pull his book open and scribble something onto the first blank page. He’s written all over the margins, so it’s not an issue, but the sight of it has Mai’s nails digging into his shoulder. She shuts his book, slides it to rest under his awaiting hand, and shoulders her bag. “Text me the address, and don’t be late.”

She’s a few steps away but still in hearing range when she hears the girl snap out a, “who the fuck is that?” that brings a small smile to Katara’s face as she walks away. 

. . .  


He’s late. 

To be fair, she tells herself with an irritated sigh, it’s only by a few minutes. The clock on the exposed-brick wall tells her it’s 6:03. He’s still technically late. 

Katara pulls out her phone, tapping on the messages icon to check her chat with him from a couple hours ago. He’d introduced his number onto her a phone with the address she’d asked for, and her being the kind human that she was, had replied with a courteous ‘thanks’. That was that. She looks back up towards the door. Nothing.

The place is mostly empty, though she hasn’t had a chance to look around. It smells like freshly brewed coffee and melted chocolate, and the plush cushion she’s on makes her feel more at home than she’s felt in a while. There are dim but large, low-hanging bulbs winding down from the ceiling, a chalkboard behind the counter depicting a handwritten menu, placards on the table that give her the wi-fi password and canvases of eclectic, eye-catching artwork dotted on the walls. It’s nice, she decides, leaning further back against the fluffy cushions and crossing one leg over the other.

She looks back at her phone that is yet to lock itself, startled by the sight of the three dots in the conversation with him. Part of her expects him to cancel, part of her wants to rush out of the chat to escape the humiliation of his message being instantly Read: 6:03, as if she was waiting for it (she totally was). Her phone buzzes. _Relax, I’m here._

It’s only a moment later that the bell above the door chimes with the entrance of someone new. It’s 6:04. She watches him walk in, nod to the waitress who rushes towards him and holds a hand up to keep her from getting him any later than he already is. With a quick scope of the room, he finds her, waiting not-so-patiently on the couch facing the door. 

“You’re late.” Katara tells him, ignoring the way the waitress lingers near them, looks at her the same way the dark haired girl with the fringe did earlier. 

He has a set of keys dangling from his curled fingertip, which he pockets swiftly. “Parking.”

“You don’t have people to do that for you?” She murmurs, digging her laptop out of her bag and propping it onto the table in front of her. He takes a seat to her right, on one of the cushioned smaller chairs, and leans back. 

“Well, shit, I must’ve left my servants back in 1865.” 

Alright. Maybe she deserved that. She ignores this, unwilling to admit her guilt at pre-judging him and opens up the instructions for the assignment she’d downloaded earlier. “How do you take your coffee?” She asks him once she’s swivelled the laptop so he can scroll through the document, standing up to go order.

“Americano, black.” He reaches into a pocket and holds out a flashy card between two fingers. 

“I have the means to pay for coffee, _thank you_.” She can’t help but grit out with unreasonable bubbling anger, when he exhales through his nose and waves the hand holding the card out just a little. 

“Think of it as reimbursement for being late.” His eyes bore into her, holding a glint of challenge. She can’t help but ignore every instinct she has to take the gesture of kindness as just that, kindness. Something about him makes her want to retort, push back, forget her initial plan of introducing a peace treaty and instead watch him tumble from his diamond-studded high horse.

“I’m sure you usually get through life by waving your platinum dick around, but I can scavenge up enough for two coffees.”

Zuko has the audacity to smirk, leaning back in his seat, refusing to cast his eyes away from her steely ones. “How big?” 

“What?” 

“My platinum dick,” He quirks up the eyebrow over his good eye. “How big is it?” 

She bites her lip, refusing to let her mouth twitch into anything resembling an amused smile. “Below average.” 

“Duly noted.” 

She makes her way to the counter and orders herself an Iced Caramel Latte, his Americano and a cookie (with a not-so-subtle point to prove) she gets given in a paper bag. She gives the barrister the cash with a friendly smile that is met with a look that questions her relationship with Zuko, to which she wants to scream, ‘take him, _please_ ’. Deciding to switch to avoiding eye contact with her, Linda, her name-tag says, she takes her coffees in her hands, tucking the bag between a couple outstretched fingers, struggling a little on the route back.

The cookie bag almost falls out of her grasp on her way back, when she’s steadied by foreign hands that take a coffee from her to lighten the load. Looking up, she is pleasantly surprised when she sees Aang.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” He chuckles a little and she ducks her head to hide the blush.

“Hey,” She smiles back fondly, “You always seem to catch me at my worst.” 

“I hang around in bushes and buildings waiting for you to trip or drop something.” He tells, giving her a greeting nod and gesturing behind him. “Come meet my friend.” 

She doesn't have time to tell him she can’t, only tucks the now folded bag into a pocket as she trails behind him, till she spots a girl by one of the round tables, with short dark hair and striking eyes. She has a headphone hanging out of an ear, a book with blank pages opened in front of her. It’s not until she’s had a closer look that Katara realises the pages aren’t blank, but braille.

“I thought I ordered an espresso, and yet you bring back a human.” She says, eyes focused on the space between Aang and Katara. “Hello human, where is my espresso?”

Aang rolls his eyes half-heartedly, “Forgive Toph, she’s cranky without her hourly fix.”

Toph’s mouth twitches a little at that.

“Toph, this is Katara. I _bumped_ into her a few days ago.” He laughs to himself at his pun. 

Katara is about to give her hand out to shake when she rethinks it and almost slaps herself. “Hi, it’s great to meet you.”

“What’s with the two coffees?” Aang nods his head in the direction of her filled hands. “Unless you need that much caffeine, no judgement here.” 

“Oh, no.” She says, remembering her project. “One is for my…uh, Zuko.” 

“Any of them espressos?” Toph interrupts, and Aang sighs before jogging towards the counter with an apologetic smile sent in Katara’s direction. Upon hearing his departure to fetch her coffee, Toph seems to absorb what the new girl just said with a head tilt. 

“Zuko… _Sozin_?” She asks with growing curiosity. At Katara’s surprised agreement, her lips widen into a a full-blown grin. “ _Sparky’s_ here? Small world. Where?”

Katara wonders how on earth they know each other, and how he is important enough for her to forget the coffee she’s been jittering for. Maybe Katara does need the two coffees, now that she thinks of it. “Here, let me.” She extends her arm but Toph refuses it, telling her she only needs her in close proximity to make sure she doesn’t walk into a pole or off a ledge, but her spacial awareness is based on heightened feeling and sound. She unfolds her cane and uses it to guide her way across into the other side of the coffee shop where Zuko is typing away at her laptop. 

“Jesus, did you get lost—” His eyes drift up to catch hers, then spot Toph and almost instantly they light up in a way he can’t hide. “Toph.” 

He stands up and she steps into him, into a _hug_. Toph reaches his mid-torso, he tries to fight it but soon enough gives in to drape an arm around her and it’s admittedly adorable and Katara has to keep her jaw from dropping. Pulling out of the embrace, he guides her to the seat he was just occupying, takes her cane and folds it back into itself, taking a seat on the couch, next to Katara. She hands him his coffee and continues to stare at their interactions in awe. 

“Long time no see, Sparky.” 

“Ha, blind jokes. _Those_ never get old.” He deadpans, but the look in his eyes gives him away, he’s amused. He takes a sip of his coffee. The strong smell of it reaches Toph, and before she can ask he pushes the cup into her hand. She takes a long sip and sighs appreciatively after. 

“How do you two—um, how did you meet?” Katara prods, curiosity getting the better of her. 

“All rich people know each other.” She hears Zuko mutter, but makes it a point to ignore him. 

“At some networking dinner my family hosted a couple years back,” Toph is much more eager to talk now that she’s gotten a hit of caffeine. “He was the only one that didn’t pussyfoot around my,” She waves a hand around her eyes, says the next word in a mocking whisper. “ _blindness_. Provided the Mary Jane to get through the night. We were fast friends.” 

She passes the cup back to Zuko, who leans back into the couch and avoids Katara’s wandering eyes, glancing down into his drink. 

He chooses to break the silence once he’s cleared his throat. “How is everything?” The way he says it tells Katara it’s a much heavier question than it seems. She realises she feels like an intruder in an intimate conversation between two friends. 

“Oh, you know, the usual.” Toph shrugs. “They lie, they yell and forget I exist — the Bei-Fong family way.” She smiles to herself about something else Katara doesn’t know. “But hey, at least I’m not the banished heir to the Sozin fortune. How _is_ Daddy Dearest?”

Wait, _what_? Katara’s mind reels at that, eyes widening and the cup in her hands almost falling to the floor in shock. _Did she just say ‘banished’?_ Unsure what that even means, maybe it’s a rich-kid thing, she tries to digest the new information. Whatever it meant, it isn’t positive, and it tells her there’s so much more to him she has no idea about. 

Zuko seems unfazed, taking a long swig of his coffee. “Mm, Freud would have a field day.” 

Toph props her knee up against the side of the armrest, tucking a foot under herself. “Glad you got rid of Emo Space Buns at least, she was a bore.” 

Zuko coughs into his drink. Katara opens her mouth to retort and clarify that no, no, she is not here as his date or whatever the hell Toph thought, when the younger girl gets in before her.

“Well, Twinkletoes has probably sent a search party out for me by now, I should get back.” She makes a move to leave, standing and brushing herself off of nonexistent dust. “It was cool meeting you, _Ka-ta-ra_.” 

Katara doesn’t know how to react, so calls after her newest acquaintance. “It was good to see you, too.” She regrets it immediately.

“Ah yes, _sight_. What’s that like?” Toph sighs dramatically and shakes her head with a laugh at herself. Katara is about ready to dive into a hole in the ground at her slip, noticing how Zuko’s next exhale sounds eerily like a chuckle. Toph doesn’t hear the exchange, instead patting herself down absentmindedly, in search of something. 

“I’ve got it, Daredevil.” Zuko stands, propping his coffee on the table and opening up her cane he had on his lap, to full length before handing it over to her awaiting fingers. She taps it a few times against the floor in what Katara assumes is a way to understand her new surroundings, but when she sees Zuko’s feet smoothly dodge the end of the white cane and Toph laugh, she realises it’s something she’s done before. And he wasn’t to be bested by a blind girl again. He plants his palm on the small of her back, it’s more surprising that she lets him, and they make their way back where Katara came from. 

Her eyes follow their every move, as she twists around to watch. Toph is saying something to Zuko, who is a few feet taller so he has to bend down a little to hear. She can’t hear them, but the way they are around each other is comfortable and easy, two things she would never have associated with the Sozin. Then again, what does she know about him, really? She’s made nothing but pre-assumed judgements, based on his lineage and his obnoxious behaviour that gets on her very last nerve but, she started it, didn’t she? This limbo between enmity and acquaintanceship with foreign flecks of attraction. 

He turns back to her staring at him, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between teeth. She knows she looks insane, she feels it too, but there’s something, a tick in her mind that makes her doubt everything she’s thought about him so far. Zuko settles back in his chair, giving her a questioning look.

_He’s still a dick,_ she decides firmly, shaking her head and checking her (lack of) texts in an attempt to ignore him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Good? Bad? Awful-Sarah-you-should-quit-writing-bad? I'm all ears.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I highly, highly recommend listening to 'Hurts So Good' by Astrid S whilst reading the first section. I'm so very sorry for how long I've made you wait, I've been struggling to write anything half-decent for a long time. It's 4am, so this is a brief, drowsy but big thank you to my betas and readers.

His pen taps an off-beat tune against the table. In the middle of compiling research for his Western Politics assignment, he’s on a table tucked away into the very back of the campus library. It’s always packed, even now in the evening, almost all the other seats taken by stressing students. Yet, the three other chairs dotted around his table remains empty, thanks to public knowledge about his utter dislike for people in general. It doesn’t prevent the group of girls sat on a round table near his from giggling and whispering every time his eyes gilded lazily across the room. 

Leaning back in the fairly uncomfortable chair, Zuko scrawls a few more notes down from the published thesis he’s skimming through.

A shadow casts over his notebook and he pauses, very aware of the eyes boring into his head. Lifting it up, he quirks a brow at the intruder, challenging them before he even focuses in on their face. By now, he’s no longer surprised when she takes the seat across from him. She has a habit of showing up when he least expects it and adamantly making herself comfortable. Wordlessly, she draws open a book that weighs more than her and buries herself in it. The people around them are staring in shock at her choice of seat, too. 

She’s been avoiding him ever since their first time working on the project. He hates himself for it, but it’s been twelve days and it _bothers_ him. Especially since she’s Miss-I-Can’t-Get-Anything-Less-Than-An-A, and her lack of nagging him about how _desperately_ they needed to work on this godforsaken project has, for some twisted reason, frustrated him. 

Fucking hell, even the first session had ended rather abruptly. Zuko’d opened his mouth to make a quip about how he’d caught her staring, when she cleared her throat softly, mumbled something about having to be somewhere all of a sudden, and left with a curt but firm goodbye. He was left staring at the door for a good ten seconds, mouth agape, before he had to blink himself out of it. He just can’t wrap his head around her. She’s heatedly staring at him from across a crowded room and scribbling her number into one of his favourite paperbacks one minute; then cursing his lineage and pretending he doesn’t exist another. Not one for games, Zuko’d refused to give her a second thought. 

He’d failed. 

Katara drags her hair out of her face, pulling it up into a bun and securing it with a rather violent stab of a pencil. Five minutes of silence later, her hair is threatening to spill out, tendrils falling into her eyes. If the furrow of her brows and the way she incessantly bites the nail of her thumb down to the nub is anything to go by, she’s stressed. 

Zuko’s eyes don’t drift from the site he’s scrolling through when he says lowly, “Have you considered Prozac?” 

His voice seems to drag her out of her thoughts, and she looks up with piercing eyes. “Have you considered walking into traffic?”

There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, yet he still doesn’t look up. “Only every single day.” 

A pause as she digests the quip, the teasing tone laced in the words. Her lips can’t help but twitch upwards, “Did you just make a joke?” 

“Not if you have to ask.” Comes the response after a pause, to which she has to laugh. He looks as surprised as she does about it.

Her soft laughter paints the room. Something in his chest swells, threatening to burst through his shirt, when amusement lights up her face, the sound quiet but sweet enough to crave it again as soon as she’s silenced herself abruptly. 

Her eyes flit over to his briefly and he holds them for a few beats. He’s half-sure the room is spinning around him. 

She’s clamped her mouth shut, her lips rolling into a hard line as if the fact that she just laughed at his mediocre joke is some betrayal to herself. His eyes flit over her as she drags small palms down her face. One laugh and she’s launched herself into an inner-battle it seems. Deciding this new development is much more interesting than his assignment, Zuko leans forward and sets his forearms on the table. 

He’s eyeing his begrudging ‘partner’ with stark curiosity, and this almost incessant need to piss her off. Her eyebrows furrow, hair wildly spilling this way and that, framing features that fall into this wholly exasperated expression that tugs at the edges of his mouth. 

“What,” He starts, raising a dark eyebrow, done with being coy about looking at her. He makes sure she knows this time, as she looks back wide-eyed. “is your problem?”

The question is heavy. And just like that, the atmosphere in the room has changed from reasonably pleasant to cold and uncomfortable. He doesn’t care, anger seeps into his veins at how fucking difficult she’s so intent on being. Katara, not one to back down, leans over her book, mirroring his position. The look she gives him is hard, glaring, but he doesn’t buy it. She still looks like she’s making up for the little slip-up earlier. It sends his pulse into a frenzy, and in the back of his mind he realises she’s driving him to the brink of insanity. It _pisses him off_. 

“What is _that_ supposed to mean—”

His fingers curl into fists, teeth gritting out the words before she has a chance to finish her indignant high-and-mighty little act. “It _means_ , I’m sick of your holier-than-thou bullshit.” 

“What a _surprise_.” She snaps at him, her voice a sharp, chilling whisper. “You couldn’t go five minutes without being an asshole.”

It’s like a slap to the face, because, well, it’s true. Katara doesn’t wait for a response, shoving her chair back so loud the legs screech against the floor. He watches with hard eyes as she grabs her bag and storms off through the back exit. His mind reels, words burning at the tip of his tongue that he just can’t let go of right now. His belongings forgotten, he stalks out with her, ignoring the gaping looks nearby students give each other at the scene. 

He kicks the door shut behind him, catching her in the deserted parking lot. She whirls back around at his heavy footsteps, her eyes narrowed, mouth contorted into a scowl as if she’d tasted something bitter. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! _I’m_ the asshole?” 

“No shit.” His eyes roll as she hisses, looking all the bit ready for this fight as he is. “It must run in the family, huh.”

Here we go again. This time, he pinches his thigh to keep the rising fury at mention of his family from clouding what he’s here to say. Zuko’s long strides eliminate more of the space between them as she holds her ground. “Oh, shut the _fuck_ up.” He snaps, revelling in the way she flinches at the force of his words. “How much more of this pathetic deflecting before you accept that _you_ started this.”

He watches the way her throat moves as she swallows hard. Guilt brims in her shiny eyes but she shakes her head defiantly. Satisfaction ripples through him at the tiny crack of her armour, and fuck it, he loses all control of his mouth. “You don’t get to act the damn victim, like you’re _fucking_ _better than me_.” She opens her mouth to say something, no doubt about his riches or his privilege or something along the lines of that bollocks. He’s on a roll, though, taking another step forward, this time noting as she takes a hesitant one back. “We both know you want to hate me.” 

“I _do_ hate—” Katara barks, extending her index finger to point at him. He meets it with a final step closer that pushes her nail into the front of his shirt, that leaves her words caught in her throat. She’s a head shorter than him, having to crane her neck to meet his steely eyes. 

“No, you _don’t_. I don’t care if you take out the stick lodged up your ass for long enough to admit it, but you don’t. Hate. Me.” His confidence rises with every word, skyrocketing when her eyes flash as he hits a nerve. He watches from behind the mask of indifference that she’s running out of excuses.

Something in her snaps, he can almost hear it, and suddenly the power has shifted between them. “You know what…you’re right.” Her voice is soft, almost a whisper laced with what sounds eerily like hysteria. “You’re fucking right!”

He stares at her, surprised at the outburst. 

No longer recoiling from him, she shoves him with all her force — he lets her. He stumbles back, finding his footing just before his back hits the wall. “ _God_ , do I want to hate you! I want to despise everything about you. Your Sozin name, your expensive shit, your pompous attitude! I want to hate it all, so fucking bad.” Her voice cracks, his heart lurching when he realises she’s about to cry. “But I’m such a shit excuse for a daughter that I had to be—want…a-a _Sozin_ , a fucking Sozin, the very people who killed her—”

His heart has stopped beating entirely. “ _Killed_ …? What—”

“You show up—the last thing I’d expect a Sozin to _be,_ and I-I don’t even know how to cope—I just want to push,” She punctuates this with a fist to his chest. The air is knocked right out of him, but suppresses the wince. “Push— _push_ till you break just like your family broke mine—”

Her other fist joins and before he can blink she’s punching blow after blow to his torso with the sides of her tightly wound hands. His hands fly out to grasp at hers, but she’s too quick and he sees that she needs this. “Stop— _Katara_ —”

It’s the first time he’s ever said her name out loud and it breaks the dam that held her tears at bay. They stream freely down her reddened face but she doesn’t stop her attack on him, beating him till her hands ache and her throat strains from the strangled cry that escapes it. His fingers catch her wrists finally as he strains to breathe. 

“Katara.” He murmurs softly, eyes darting over her face. She freezes, staring at her hands, before she lets out a choked sob and her knees collapse beneath her. With his hands holding each of her limp fists, he drops to his knees with her, dragging her close as she shakes violently. Her fingers grip hard at his t shirt that grows damp from the tears she presses into it. Zuko gathers her frail body in his arms, crushing her to him as she rides out her panic attack. His arms encircle her, a hand reaching up to stroke the hair at the top of her head as she pushes it roughly into the crook of his neck. Rocking her ever so gently, he traces his fingertips up and down her back. “Shh, it’s okay.”

His knees throb with pain but he keeps her close, whispering gently into her ear to keep her grounded as she breaks completely, not just in front of him, but _into_ him. “I’ve got you, you’re okay.”

The breeze whistles passed them and at her shiver he remembers the jacket strewn across the back of his chair inside. Rubbing his callous palms up and down her arms to warm her, Zuko sighs into her hair, burrowing his nose in it as he gives in to her touch. She smells like fruit, like saltwater and sand. And he holds her there, tight against him as her breathing evens out in the empty, darkening car park where he can see his bike. 

Katara drags her head away from his shoulder, and if her babbling is anything to go by, she’s feeling better. “Sorry—Jesus, I’m so—fuck…”

Zuko doesn’t have time for her to overthink this and storm away again. His hands cup her face firmly, brushing the strands of hair off her damp cheeks. He doesn’t know where he’s getting the courage to touch her like this, but she melts into it and he can’t complain. “Don’t.” He’s shaking his head, squeezing his eyes shut briefly before looking at her once again. “Let…let me take you home.” 

Her eyes widen. She yanks herself away from him, blinking furiously as if in a haze. Katara brushes off the gravel from the knees of her jeans, failing to contain a shiver at the cold. “No—it’s fine, _I’m_ _fine_. I’ll walk—” She looks around wildly, figuring out where she is. 

“Yeah, _right_.” He rolls his eyes, standing to join her before he sighs. “Do you always have to be so damn difficult?” 

She drags the back of her hands across her cheeks and straightens herself out. His pulse leaps when she narrows her eyes at him, seeming more and more like herself. Crossing her arms, her nose high in the air, she stares him down. Like she didn’t just break down in his arms mere minutes ago. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking. “There’s no way I’m getting on that death contraption you call a bike.” 

He shoves a hand into his hair, scoffing at the way they’ve slipped back into routine. “ _She_ is perfectly safe, actually.”

“There’s something deeply misogynistic about men addressing their vehicles as females to inherently _use_ and _ride_ —”

“Christ, alright.” Zuko says, holding his palms up in surrender. It dawns on him that he doesn’t have two helmets, so perhaps she has a point. Wracking his brain, he comes up with a solution. “Give me five minutes.” 

There are three painful seconds as she entertains the idea, then upon realising walking home in this darkness was probably best to be avoided, she nods begrudgingly. He wastes no time, wrenching open the door to go back inside to collect his things. He fishes out his phone from a pocket before calling his sister. She picks up by the time he’s shouldered his bag, on the second ring.

“I’d complain about your timing, but I think this is the first time _you’ve_ ever called _me_.” Azula says slowly, curiously. “You’re not dying, are you?”

“I need my car.” He tells her, walking towards the exit Katara is standing by. 

There’s a pause, then. “…Come again?”

“Azula, I need my car. Now.” He exhales loudly, shutting his mind out to the thoughts that erupt regarding the last time he used it. “So, if you don’t mind, can you drive it to the parking lot at the back of the campus library—yeah, I’m here, and—” He has to suck in a breath through clenched teeth at the next words, but as the door shuts behind him and he sees her waiting, leaning against the wall when she could’ve very easily called her brother three minutes ago; it makes it much easier to say it. “You can ride my bike home.”

There’s a whoop and a loud ‘fuck yeah!’ on the other end of the line that has him holding his phone farther away from his ear. Taking that as confirmation, he cuts the call and turns to Katara, who has her brows high. _This is going to be a long night,_ he thinks, unable to bring himself to care very much. 

. . .

Ten minutes later, Zuko nods towards the dark jeep pulling into the box by his bike. Katara looks surprised, then scoffs, rolling her eyes to the sky. “ _Of course_.”

Azula jumps out of the car. Literally, she jumps from the high step of the towering jet black rover, with practised ease. Her eyebrows disappear into her fringe when she sees Zuko walking towards it, with _her_ trailing behind him. 

He tosses her his keys which she catches, mouth agape as she stares from her brother to Katara. “Not a word.” He hisses under his breath, giving her a levelling look. 

She motions zipping her mouth up and throwing away the key, her face alight with amusement. Azula shoves passed him to greet Katara. “I don’t think we’ve ever properly met.” She purrs, extending a hand. “Azula.” 

Nodding with barely concealed suspicion in her eyes, the older girl shakes her hand. “Katara.” 

“ _Oh,_ love, I know who you are.” She beams, crimson smile curling into something mischievous. “You’ve been my idol ever since you smacked Zuzu right across the face.” Katara’s lips twitch at the memory whilst Zuko growls. “Trust me, it’s been a long time coming since someone put him in his place like—”

“ _Azula_.” Her brother warns, voice hard. She sticks her tongue out at him. 

“Mm, see you around, Kat.” Her voice is smooth, almost molten. With a wink that tells her she’ll definitely be seeing her around and a swift, airy kiss to her brother’s cheek that he doesn’t bother resisting, she climbs onto the bike. Pulling on the helmet, she flips the visor up and revs the engine. 

“You get one scratch on her and I’ll—”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “ _Her_? How misogynistic.” 

Katara makes an approving sound, to which Zuko presses his forehead into his hand. His sister drives off, winding her way through the remaining parked cars and zooming down the street with a speed that makes him imagine every scenario in which his bike ends up in the junkyard. 

He tosses his bag onto the backseats, holding his hand out for her to hand him hers. After some hesitation, she does and he turns the keys his sister left in the car for him. 

Zuko pulls out of the parking lot, waiting at the exit for a car to pass. He lets his eyes wander to the passenger seat, where she’s leaning away from him with her head pressed against the window. A hand rubs at the back of his neck, words at the tip of his tongue. He swallows them, though, knowing better than to push it after the onslaught of anxiety and whirlwind of emotions she’d just dealt with. He turns her seat warmer up to max as they turn the corner. 

The roads are mostly empty, though they drive passed a couple drunk teenagers stumbling over themselves. At the lights, he turns up the radio as Khalid’s _Location_ begins.

Tapping his fingers against the wheel along with the beat, he winds them down the long stretch of the road. Glancing to her, he almost gets distracted as she ever-so-softly hums the melody. He bites his tongue from saying something about it in case she stops. Her eyes catch hold of his, but he quickly turns away, blinking his eyes back into focus. The tension in the small space between them is palpable.

See, he can take this turn on the left here. With that, they’ll get to the first-year dorms five minutes quicker than if he was to just keep going straight. But her humming is getting just that bit louder and she’s braiding and unbraiding a lock of her hair and, oh, screw it. He hesitates before giving in to the juvenile, selfish part of him that urges him to press down on the gas and ignore the junction. 

Thirteen minutes later he pulls up by the entrance to the first of the row of buildings, shifting the car into park and easing off the pedals. The light switches on above them, and he’s unsure what to do. She unlatches her belt, reaching behind the seat to drag out her bag from the spacious back, pulling it to her lap. He should say something, right? Definitely. Yes…maybe. Jesus, this is embarrassing. Tipping his head back to rest against the tough leather top of the seat, he shuts his eyes. 

All he has to do is say _something_ , spark some sort of conversation to get her to linger a little longer. It’s never been this ridiculously hard to talk to someone, for fuck’s sake. Come on, Zuko. Just look at her—good job. Now say something. Something. Anything. Speak! 

“I—um, I’m free this weekend, if you wanted to, uh, work on the project, or something.” It doesn’t help his loss for words that she’s not meeting his eyes. 

“Yeah, sure.” Katara nods, thoroughly interested in the latches on her bag. She opens the door, ready to step out and miss the way Zuko drops his forehead to the rim of the steering wheel, when she stops mid-movement. As she turns back, his head swings back up and he feigns casualness. 

Her eyes lock on his, and she’s breathing hard for a good few seconds before the words tumble out of parted lips, “Um…thank you.”

He nods slowly, taking advantage of every moment her gaze lingers on his. He’s snapped out of it by the swift swivel of her head and the soft _thud_ as she jumps out, shutting the door behind her. She walks around the front of the car, and he doesn’t care that she can tell he’s clearly staring. 

By the time she’s through the doors he’s slamming his hand onto the dashboard. “ _Work on the project or something_? Really? Fuck _me_.”

The car lurches to life as he does a u-turn. He floors it, sending him flying down the road as he makes his way home, wanting nothing more than sleep and a strong drink. 

. . .

He throws the car keys onto the island by the kitchen, locking his door and making a mental note to get his bike back first thing tomorrow morning. Zuko’s mind is too busy for him to fall asleep any time soon, he accepts it with a sigh. What she said in the parking lot, all that gibberish about _killing_ and _family_ and being a _terrible daughter._ It’s all he could think about on the ride back. That and how fucking _soft_ she felt as he held her close enough to inhale her scent. That part’s driving him nuts. 

He slips off his shoes, sheds his jacket and begins pulling off his t-shirt when a flurry of colour catches his attention. 

His heart leaps into his throat at the surprise of finding Mai standing in front of him in his apartment. He looks at her like she’s fucking crazy, breathing erratically. “What the actual _fuck_ , Mai!”

“Don’t stop on my account.” She purrs, hooking her thin fingers into the belt of the dark trench coat she has on, indoors. He doesn’t even want to ask how the hell she got into his place. Doesn’t care. All he needs is for her to leave so he can rest. 

His fingers shoot into his hair, pulling at locks of it in exasperation. “Honestly, Mai, I don’t—”

Mai smirks, quirking an eyebrow. She stops all speech he has planned with a quick tug at the belt, the sides of her coat falling to a pool at her feet. She saunters over to him, pressing her very naked body against his. She drags her lips up his throat, kissing and licking a path to his ear. “ _Cmon_ , Zuko. Stop playing so hard to get.”

His eyes shut on instinct as her hand cups him over his jeans. She laughs into his ear at his innate reaction, the prominent tent in his trousers. He’s so dizzy with thoughts of the day, his feelings all over the place that, maybe, he needs—can’t think straight—just, God. Not thinking too much into it, he pulls her mouth up to crash against his. Winding fingers into her hair, he pulls it free from the bun, using his free hand to pull her close. 

She smirks against his mouth, which he gets rid of by slipping his tongue into hers, letting her drag his shirt over his head. He walks her backwards to the couch, which he pushes her onto before unbuckling his belt and stepping out of his pants. Hovering over her body sprawled out across his couch, he grunts into her clavicle as she slips a hand under his boxers, handling him roughly. He’s hard in her grip, groaning as she rakes her nails down the length of him. 

Grinning, she darts out from under him, pushing him to sit as she drops to her knees between his parted legs. She drags his boxers down, throwing them behind her. With a sultry look in his direction, she licks the tip of him. 

Zuko throws his head back over the back of the sofa, eyes to the ceiling as she takes more of him into her wet mouth. Mai moans around his cock, the vibrations of the noise sending ripples through him. He sets his jaw, trying to keep his eyes shut to drown in nothing but the feeling, his hands settling on either side of her head to push more of himself into her. 

She slides herself off of him with a soft ‘pop’, snickering to herself. “And to think, I was worried about that cheap island whore.”

Once she takes him back into her mouth, this time deeper, it takes him a while before the words register. His eyes blink open, and suddenly the ceiling is bleak. “Stop.” He rasps, pulling himself away. “Get off.”

“That good, huh?” She grins, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. 

He’s not listening. He can’t hear anything anyway over his blood pumping in his ears at the mention of her. Zuko fumbles for his boxers, pulling them on and darting off the seat. He hauls on his discarded shirt too, for good measure. 

“Zuko—what the hell—how were you not into _that_?” She’s yelling at him, outraged at the turn of events. 

He hands her coat back. “I think you should leave.”

Mai’s mouth drops open and she sputters, “You’re not serious.”

Saying nothing in response, he presses his lips into a line as she makes an incredulous noise and snatches the garment from his outstretched fingers. She pulls it on forcefully, shoving her arms through the sleeves. “This is about that little _bitch_ , isn’t it?” She hisses. “You’re _into_ that slut.”

Zuko drags his teeth across his bottom lip, “First of all, that’s none of your business.” 

“Not my—Zuko, I’m your _girlfriend_!” She cries, tying her belt tight with a sharp yank. 

The word riles him up even more. She’s really the farthest thing from that and it dawns on him how messed up everything is.He shoves a hand into his hair, the other one flailing as if to convey his exasperation through gestures. “Fucking hell, Mai. Do you even love me? Have you ever felt anything for me, not my family name, not the attention I bring you—but, _me_?”

With her brows strung together, she looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “ _Love_? When has this ever been about _love_ , Zuko?” 

“Exactly.” He murmurs, walking to the door. 

A cruel laugh behind him. “So _what_ , you want me to love you now, is that it? Are we in high school?”

His blinks away red, hot anger as he holds the front door open for her. “Get out.”

“ _Fine_.” Mai snaps, voice low as she walks passed him. “Call me when you’re done playing with the help.”

. . .

He sleeps later than usual. Turning in bed, his eyelids heavy with sleep, Zuko squints to watch the clock flash 06:52. It’s unlike him to wake up so late, accustomed to rising with the sun, ever since he was a child. To be fair, he hadn’t managed to get a wink of sleep till roughly three hours ago. His laptop sits on the other side of his bed, a reminder of his futile research. 

Pushing himself up to rest his weight on his elbows, he stares it down angrily. Hours on end he’d spent trying to figure out what Katara was talking about in the midst of her panic attack. He’d only caught a few words, not that she’d divulged too much anyway, and after some deliberation, googled ‘’Ehukai’. Skimming through Facebook profiles and Polynesian name-meanings sites, he’dcome across something that had his heart leaping into his throat. A formal obituary for Dr. Kya ‘Ehukai. 

From the Sozin Empire. 

Getting more questions than answers, he frantically read the fairly short acknowledgement of her work as a renowned scientist in their pharmaceutical labs. The picture was small, pixelated, old. But from the blue of her large eyes and the billowing dark hair, Zuko knew this is— _was_ her mother. More tabs bloomed in his browser, keywords like ‘Dr ‘Ehukai’ and ‘Sozin Empire’ getting him mostly rubbish links. There was a picture, however, on a newspaper archive that had a small article in the corner: ‘Grieving Family Takes Sozin To Court’. _What the fuck?_ He didn’t remember any of this. The article was five lines, tops. A brief overview of a mourning ‘Ehukai family pressing charges against Sozin Empire, namely Ozai himself, for—for suspicious death. He’d searched and searched for a while after that to get more information about the trial, anything substantial. But it seemed all history of it was practically wiped from the web. 

Zuko’s head falls back onto the pillow. He throws an arm over his eyes. Part of him wants to continue digging, but frankly, it’s futile. The need to dig further is relentless in the back of his mind, but right now is not the best time. 

He has a routine every morning, one that has flown out the window this particular day. It usually involves waking up, yanking open the curtains, making his bed and padding into the shower. Every day, a near-scalding stream of water is doused on him, soothing any sore muscles and ridding his mind of all thoughts as he presses his forehead against the cool tiles, breathing hot and hard against them. Once he’s washed up, he usually slides open the doors to the balcony to greet the sun. His apartment is always filled with light, from the floor-to-ceiling windows that greedily feed of the sunrise. The next few hours are spent meditating or running through some Tai Chi to keep himself active from the get-go. 

Today, however, he can’t be fucked. 

There’s too much going on in his mind to ignore. If he wasn’t lying flat, he’s sure he’d be dizzy by now. God, he needs some fucking tea. 

_Tea_. Rubbing hands over his face, he knows where he needs to go. 

. . .

“Zuko,” Iroh says, surprised to see his nephew walking through the doors to the tea shop. “It’s not Sunday, is it? Oh no, have I become _that_ old?” 

The young boy smiles, shutting the door behind him. There’s still an hour to go before the shop opens, but Iroh is already brewing a fresh pot. The herbal, spicy scent travels across the room, already soothing him. “You’ve been that old for a century, Uncle.”

His uncle grins, drawing him into a tight hug. “Good to see you, my boy.” He pulls back, large hands planted on each of his shoulders. “Tea?”

“Please,” Zuko nods appreciatively. He’s guided outside to the courtyard at the very back of the café, where red lanterns hang from the roof and a bench with adjoining table sits amongst the neatly trimmed plants. There’s even blooming blossom trees along the edge of the space. This part of the building is strictly off-access to customers, as are the two floors above the shop where he lives his modest life. Zuko’s lived here too, for a few years after his father had him cut off, when he left a life of fortune, greed and power behind. ‘Good riddance’, Iroh had told him when he’d shown up with a burnt eye and a suitcase. He’s always looked to the older man as the father he’s always craved. 

“Tell me,” Iroh says into the rim of his cup. “What’s on your mind, Zuko?”

The tea burns down his throat at the hard swallow. “Wh-what—there’s—why would you—”

He gets the usual wise, knowing smile in response. Zuko sighs, eyes cast downwards, curling his fingers tighter around his own mug. “Uncle…” He glances up from the swirling flecks of herbs in the steaming tea. “Did you ever know a Kya ‘Ehukai?”

Recognition flashes across Iroh’s face, sending ripples of shock and fear through Zuko. He remains silent, but the creases of his forehead and the morose look in his eyes gives the man away. “Nephew, where did you hear that name?” 

Zuko’s head spins. He sets down his cup beside him, leaning across the table to stare at his uncle. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved of some insight or afraid of the answer. His eyes widen and the words that escape him are almost pleading, “What do you know?”

Iroh looks devastated at mention of Katara’s mother. A few long seconds before he finally speaks, voice hushed and solemn. “I don’t know much, unfortunately. I only ever met her once, but I’ll never forget it. Doctor ‘Ehukai…she was a scientist for your father’s company, down in a southern branch. Beautiful, smart, kind eyes…She was caught in an explosion that happened, what, fifteen years ago. Tragic accident. _Oh Lord_ , her poor family.” With shiny eyes, he gives the young Sozin a confused look. “Why do you ask?” 

He’s still getting around the new information. “I, um, I know her daughter.” 

“ _Know_ her?”

Zuko blanches. “Not like that! No—no, we’re just, we’re not even _friends_ , she’s so goddamn infuriating.” 

“Well,” Iroh chuckles. “That’s a lot of concern you have for an infuriating non-friend. You should bring her over for tea, I’d love to meet the girl that has you _caring_.”

He scoffs, colour staining his cheeks. “You’re losing it, old man.”


End file.
